


That Which Is Perfect Has Come

by DrHolland



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Aunt/Nephew Incest, F/M, Future Fic, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, POV Jon, Period-Typical Underage, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrHolland/pseuds/DrHolland
Summary: At the Great Council of 305 AC, the champions of the Dawn, Jon and Daenerys, were crowned King and Queen of Westeros. Their reign came with only one condition from a grateful continent: that the Targaryen custom of marrying brother to sister end, and that the Crown pass to Prince Aegon, Young Griff, hidden son of Rhaegar and Elia, half-brother to Jon and nephew to Dany. Also a dragonrider, Aegon is sworn to marry outside House Targaryen, bringing the controversial marriage customs of the Valyrians to an end once and for all.Few know the truth about the King and Queen's political marriage: that it has long been a love match, a romance for the ages. How events unfold will determine the fate of the Seven Kingdoms... and the entire world.





	1. Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babycakesbriauna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babycakesbriauna/gifts), [GirasolDBans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirasolDBans/gifts).



> Hello everyone! This fic is a companion story to my ongoing Gendrya epic _Arya of the Thousand Days._ It will provide the Jonerys perspective of the events in that fic.
> 
> This is a canon-divergent AU that combines elements from the novels (all 5 books), _The World of Ice and Fire,_ and the television show (mostly Seasons 1-4, plus select elements from the later seasons). You don’t have to read the previous story to get into this one, but if you're confused, check the notes at the end of the first chapter. 
> 
> If you're already familiar with the AOTTDverse, you're all set! Here we go...

 

Daenerys Targaryen realized long ago that she would never care for the Red Keep.

Strategically and symbolically, Dany understood perfectly well why her ancestors had chosen this spot on the Blackwater Rush for their royal capital. It made sense. The Freehold had made their intentions known to the old petty kings of Westeros two generations before the Doom, when they began colonizing the islands of the Narrow Sea. The visions of Daenys the Dreamer sent Houses Targaryen, Velaryon, and Celtigar into an exile made permanent after Valyria was destroyed.

King’s Landing was the beginning of a unified Westeros. And this Red Keep was a living reminder of the dragonlords' power.

As much as some of their more recalcitrant lords grumbled about the Targaryen dynasty being restored after the threat of the White Walkers had been averted, Dany chose to overlook the rumblings that reached her ears. Grumble they might, but a splintered Seven Kingdoms made little and less sense in this enlightened age. Central rule from one united throne was the only solution that would mend their winter-worn country back together again.

After she and Jon had been offered the Throne, Dany had mixed feelings. Part of her wanted to retire back to the lands of the Summer Sea, with the two dragons that remained to her… and _him._ After longing for Westeros her whole life long, it had been the greatest of disappointments to see how cold these lands, how closeminded the people, and how great the task set before them. They judged her at first as a foreign invader, but compared to the Free Cities and the remnants of Old Ghis? Westeros was nearly barbaric. The only real city to speak of was King’s Landing… and there was no comparing it to even the _least_ of the Free Cities.

Lord Tyrion had assured the King and Queen that they would grow to love the city on the Blackwater. So did Jon’s former Hand, Ser Davos, whom they sent to hold Storm’s End as castellan.

 _Give it time,_ they said. _You’ll find that King’s Landing has a charm all its own…_

Unfortunately, the new rulers of Westeros were of the opinion that the place did _not_ improve itself after first acquaintance.

The main problem with King's Landing was that it was _dirty._ And smelly! Neither Jon nor Dany had been pampered or indulged as children, and they’d fought side by side in the greatest Wars in thousands of years, but neither were prepared for the stink of the sewers that permeated _everything_ the moment the springtime thaw set in. Or the abject squalor of the poorest subjects, their children eschewing the undercurrents of the bay to play in the sewers of Flea Bottom. The young king and queen were told by their friends to brace themselves for the sweltering stench in the city come summer… 

 _What were our ancestors thinking?_ Dany wondered, once again, watching the sun set over the ruins of the Great Sept with a glass of Dornish Red as Missandei took her leave for the night. _If Maron Martell could gift his Daenerys the Water Gardens, I should think that the Conqueror would have thought more of his queens. If not for Visenya, then at least for Rhaenys, one would think._

_Imagine raising children here in this cesspool! Even the cities of the Bay of Dragons have better sewers and irrigation! Generations of Targaryen children…_

_If the War of the Usurper hadn’t happened, this is where I would have been born and raised. Perhaps my father would have succumbed to his madness. My brother Rhaegar would’ve been King, and then…_

_We could have been together that much sooner, he and I._

Those were the thoughts of the Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, standing on the balcony outside her chambers on a fateful evening early in the new spring. Dany often came here to enjoy watching the dragons fly over the Blackwater and the city itself, occasionally even mounting Drogon for a moonlit ride. But just then, she had much and more on her mind.

It was her habit to retire after the evening meal, to ascend the stairs with her dear friend and adviser Missandei and the younger, more eager handmaids to her sumptuous chambers. As the girls fluttered about, preparing her nightgown and her dresses and finery for the next day, Dany and Missandei would talk as the pretty Naathi girl took down her braids… or Dany redid hers.

She realized that her care for her friend startled her Westerosi maidservants, and had become the talk of the castle. But it was the way of the Dothraki, and the cultures they lived among. Her status as Khaleesi didn’t mean that she didn’t know how to saddle or sit a horse, adorn the braids of her handmaidens with bells, or find food in the Great Grass Sea. The Dothraki were the kind of culture where you led alongside, not just in front.

Deference was her birthright as a Targaryen, and well Daenerys knew it. She was famously as proud as she was beautiful. And yet, Dany loved best the few who never showed their fear to her, who were ever respectful, those who were her friends and companions by choice. 

Missandei, Special Advisor to the Queen, was one of these few.

Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King and Queen, happened to be another.

“Surveying your realm and all that is in it?” asked the Hand, walking out of her great chamber to join her on the balcony. Her people knew her habits well.

Dany said nothing. She turned toward the table, about to move toward the wine… 

“No need,” Tyrion said with a slight smile. “Let it not be said that I made the first Queen Regnant of Westeros into a mere maidservant.”

“A cup shared among friends is no cause for rumor, Lord Hand,” Dany noted, returning his smile as Tyrion poured.

“And yet it doesn't change the facts. You are my Queen.” 

“I am also your friend.” She handed Tyrion her glass. “No, I should not have more. That cup I just finished was more water than wine.”

Tyrion’s smile faded.

“The symptoms, then… the morning sickness?”

Dany waited. 

“It has not abated?”

She shook her head. "The maester confirmed this evening what you and Missandei suspected. I am with child."

Tyrion let out a deep breath, but said nothing until he had quaffed a hearty gulp of the Dornish Red.

“He’ll be thrilled, of course. You needn't worry about that.”

In response, Daenerys couldn’t help but blush like a new-flowered maid. 

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Waiting for the perfect moment, Your Grace?”

Dany’s laugh held no mirth. “I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I should tell him tonight. I suppose we should enjoy our good news in private before it tears these Kingdoms apart.” 

Tyrion poured himself another glass in response.

“You know we’ve been lovers since the Great Wars, Lord Tyrion.”

“We are your people, and we keep your secrets,” said Tyrion quickly. “What you are to each other is _not_ common knowledge. Beyond this castle and some of your loyal lords, most believe that yours is a political marr…”

“Jon is the love of my life.”

Tyrion sighed. “The Khal…”

“I was a child. I knew nothing of love, only duty and after I overcame my fear, the first stirrings of womanly passion. With Jon, all is as it should be.”

“I daresay the King feels the same about you. It’s written all over his face every time he looks at you.”

Daenerys turned back to the city view as the sun slipped beneath the western horizon.

“The shadow of his first love is ever at the back of my mind. The wildling girl Ygritte was dead beyond the Wall ere I knew him, and yet, she may be the only woman in the world whom I fear.” Soft chuckle. “If the Usurper had not rebelled, if my brother who fathered my love had not perished at the Trident…” 

“I know what you are thinking,” Tyrion said slowly, “but Daenerys, you would have been betrothed to Aegon, not Jon. Aegon was the first heir…”

“No! I would _not_ have married that mummer's dragon! Aegon was disinherited when my brother’s marriage to that Dornish princess was annulled! Besides, _he_ had his own sister to marry.” (To his credit, Tyrion did _not_ wince at the Targaryen customs.) “If all had been different, Jon and I would have grown up together, and it would have been expected. We wouldn’t have anything of this… this _trouble.”_

“Yes, Aegon has been naught but trouble, hasn’t he?” Tyrion said, hoping to change the topic. As much as Tyrion loved Daenerys and her dragons both, and as much as he respected Jon, it _did_ help that the King did not share the Targaryen look, and they’d met as strangers. It made the strange custom of the Valyrians different somehow… although no less strange.

Besides, it was something Tyrion was willing to overlook for the sake of those glorious dragons.

“The trouble is Shireen Baratheon’s marriage. Once she becomes Shireen Stark…” 

“It would not be if you proclaimed her Lady of the Stormlands.” 

“I can’t do that and uphold the rest of Stannis Baratheon’s decrees.”

“You can do whatever you like. You are the Queen and you have a dragon.”

Dany shook her head vigorously. “The legitimization of noble bastards was made easier by accepting the provisions of Stannis’ will. So was my authority as Queen. He could have named his daughter his successor on his deathbed, but he loved Shireen and wanted her protected. He gave her into the care of Jon, his brothers and sisters, and House Stark.”

“The Stormlands are Lady Shireen's birthright. By passing her over now, we risk trouble later. And yes, I realize what the Starks have said about it…”

It was Dany’s turn to frown at Tyrion. “But Sansa is right. Naming Shireen's children with Rickon heirs to the North is the best solution. Bran is Warden, but it is likely that he will never have a child.”

“They said the same of you.”

Dany smirked. “I was quite determined.” 

“Yes, my queen. All have heard your determination for years. On a nightly basis, might I add.” 

“You forget yourself, Lord Hand.” But her tone was light, indicating her good humor that evening. She followed him to the small table, and waved at the crystal decanter, indulgently. “Pour more wine for yourself, and water for me. I would have your counsel.”

“You shall always have it, Your Grace.” As she settled herself into the chair, Tyrion asked, “Will the King be joining us?”

“Soon. He is with one sister and waiting for the other.” 

“Ah.” He held up his glass. “To the fair Winter Princesses. And to their brother… the best King that Westeros has ever seen.”

Dany smiled the smile of a woman thinking about her man. (It couldn't be described any other way.)

And as their glasses clinked, Tyrion suppressed a sigh.

  

*

  

“This is dangerous, Sansa,” said the King. “We risk the peace of the Kingdoms by doing this. I can’t believe I’m letting you talk me into it.”

“I have been talking you into things since long before the Wars were through,” his sister replied crisply. “There’s a reason why you and my goodsister made me your Mistress of Laws instead of bartering my sale on the open market the moment the Great Council was done.” 

Jon softened even as Sansa's Tully blue eyes clouded over. Before the Wars, he and Sansa had been the most distant among the Stark siblings. Sansa shared her mother’s disdain for bastards. Before the truth of Jon’s parentage was widely known, his birth was the one stain on Ned Stark’s famous honor. 

It was not until Sansa had been forced to live in the guise of Alayne Stone in the Vale that she’d changed toward Jon. When he saw her next, in the depths of Winter, she’d learned to play the Game. 

Although he was a warrior of renown, politics had never been Jon’s strong suit. Along with his shrewd wife who shared the burden of the Great Throne with him, he often sought Sansa’s advice.

 _Had she been born a son, Sansa could have been Lord of Winterfell,_ Jon thought. _Bran didn’t want it at first. He said it over and over again. He wanted it to pass from him, so that the realm could have a true greenseer. But Rickon was too young, and once the Others were defeated, Bran was best suited to hold the North. After all, he’d done it before, as a boy. And he was in love with Meera, and at first, they thought that children might be possible._

 _Still, Dany wanted Sansa as the Lady of Winterfell. We talked to my brothers and sisters, and we agreed. And I argued, right there at the Great Council, argued that my sister deserved the North, at least until Rick came of age._

_But the Lords…_

_These damned Southron lords…_

_They barely saw the Winter that loomed! They didn’t feel its threat as we did._

_The Great Wars were supposed to change everything. Bastards, cripples, and broken men rule Westeros now, but the only concession the Great Council gave to the women who fought and won the peace was their first Queen to rule in her own right. What Rhaenys and Rhaenyra were refused, my Daenerys has been given._

_But I suppose that a woman ruling a Great House was too much for these Lords to stand. Instead of giving Sansa Winterfell, they seek to take the Vale from her._

_They ask me incessantly for Sansa’s hand in marriage. The suits come weekly. And just as many come to me for Arya’s hand, too, saying that the Great Council declared her husband dead._

_I will not do to them what was done to my mother. They have suffered enough for this realm._

_I will protect my sisters from the pride of these feckless noblemen. Their destiny and their fate will be their own._

_Even if I must ask my favorite sister to do the realm this great service, Arya must choose._

“If the Great Council refused you Winterfell, and my lords barely acknowledge your authority in the Vale,” said Jon, “on what grounds do I give Arya _Storm’s End?”_

“It’s hers by rights,” Sansa explained, “just as I have ruled the Vale in little Ned’s name since his father died.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. _Damned politics._ “Gendry is missing and none know his fate. He didn’t want to rule the Stormlands when he was still here! Arya’s happy in Winterfell…”

“And yet you saw the raven she sent nearly a moon ago. She will take Storm’s End in Gendry’s name if you ask her to.”

“It’s not fair to ask that of her! You know what he meant to her! You know she doesn’t want to play the game of lords, ladies, and thrones!”

“Arya loves you, Jon. She will do whatever you and Daenerys need her to do to keep the crown.”

“I don’t care about the crown! Any crown I must use my family to keep…”

“You’re not using us! You and Daenerys are the best rulers for Westeros. I truly believe that, and so do most of your lords. You already have the hearts of the people. The smallfolk and the bards sing your songs from Dorne to the Wall, even in Essos…”

Jon chuckled. “You and your songs.”

“Listen to me, Jon. What you’re facing _is_ like some of those old songs that I actually _listened to_ during our lessons. Good King Daeron had a brother who thought he was the rightful heir to Westeros. The Blackfyre Rebellions tore these kingdoms apart. Prince Aegon is furious that the Great Council passed him over last year for you, his younger brother…”

“He could’ve had the damned throne, for all Dany and I cared,” swore Jon wearily. “I fought for the peace, I fought for all of you to live… and I fought for _her._ I thought I’d earned my rest, that I’d either die during the battle, or that my corpse would fall down at start of spring…”

“Don’t be morbid!” Sansa gasped, horrified.

“You do realize that I died once? It’s not so horrible as one might think…”

“ _Jon.”_

He refrained the urge to laugh. For all that he and Sansa were getting along better these days, she’d never truly understand him. Not like his Dany, who would have heard the note of weariness at yet another battle to be waged and won.

And certainly, not like his little sister Arya, the one he was fondest of, who understood what he was thinking without saying a word.

All the same, Jon valued Sansa. He was thankful that both his sisters and his two younger brothers had survived Winter. He’d always miss Robb, but he was grateful for that much at least…

 _They’re not your brothers and sisters,_ said a newer, more unwelcome inner voice _._ _They're cousins to you, no matter what you call them._

_You’re not a Stark. That was your mother’s house. Not yours._

_You know who your real father was._

_Just as you know your true name._

“What did Father always say?” said Sansa. “You and Arya are always saying it, so if I remember it, I know that you do too.” 

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

 _Ned Stark was my father,_ said Jon to that inner voice. _In every way that counted, he was my father. What need have I of a dead prince who never saw my face?_

“What Father didn’t tell us is that the pack isn’t just for Winter, although that’s when it’s most important,” Sansa continued. “We need each other in season and out of season as well. If Arya takes the Stormlands for us, it will stop Aegon and Edric in their tracks.” 

Jon knew very well that Sansa was correct. She’d once been a foolish little girl, but the woman who stood before him was as wise as she was beautiful.

Idly, he wondered if the rumors about her that had reached even his ears were correct.

 _She is my sister,_ thought Jon. _Rumors or not, she will be protected as long as I am King. And so will Arya…_

Suddenly, he _felt_ her. Nymeria was here. He felt her joyous reunion with Ghost, heard their twilight howls as if they were rumbling in his own throat. Through his momentary communion with his direwolf, he caught her scent… 

Circling the rush far above, casting his shadow on the moon, his dragon called out in answer.

“Arya’s here.”

“Yes, I know,” said Sansa, chuckling. “Your entire face changed.”

“Sansa, I…”

“I know. You care for me too. But I know what Arya meant to you when we were children. It's like I've told you before. I envied you two, what you had…”

“You could’ve played with the rest of us if you weren’t so stuck up!”

Sansa giggled. “I _still_ mislike getting my hands dirty. And I quite enjoy being the lady that I am.”

“Yes, we know.” Jon leaned over to kiss the top of her auburn hair. “And I, your brother, am grateful for your counsel as always.”

She swatted him away. “Greet our sister, Your Grace, and tell her I shall call on her after while. I’ve need of my Hound to see to these fires. They are burning low and it will be a chilly night.”

“I’ll have him sent to you, but I will see Arya on the morn. Now that I know she is safely arrived, I shall go to my wife and Queen.”

Sansa sighed.

“Please be careful, Jon. Your love for Daenerys is an open secret here in the castle, but you no longer have a Master of Whisperers. It is one thing for _us_ to know, but quite another for Westeros. And I fear that treason from within these walls makes Aegon bold.”

“Sending Arya South will embolden him further, Sansa. He desires her.” Jon felt the bile rise in his throat. Aegon was his blood brother, and yet, there were few people he had ever misliked more. “And while I know she can protect herself…”

“Yes, she can. Do not fear that. And Arya will never be untrue to Gendry,” Sansa observed. “Not as long as there’s a chance that he may be still alive.” Pause. “She’s so much like you, Jon. When the two of you love, you love _hard_ , and there’s no changing your minds.”

The memory of that statement remained in Jon’s mind as he left his sister to seek the Queen’s chambers.

 

*

 

Dany always knew when Jon had joined her. It was as if the very air in the room was charged whenever he was near.

They’d become lovers shortly before the Battle of Winterfell. Since then, there had barely been a night when they’d slept apart. Both kept their own chambers, but then, it was the custom of the age for kings and queens, lords and ladies to have their own royal apartments, with enough room for their advisors, servants, and retainers. It was one of the many annoyances that came with living here, in the Red Keep, in this festering, redolent city of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.

Jon and Daenerys had the blood of all these peoples and more.

For they, and they alone were the blood of Old Valyria. 

Their first times on nights like these usually came without words. This was reminiscent of their first time, on the way to Winterfell, when neither words nor the meeting of lips seemed sufficient to express everything they felt for each other. Daenerys knew what the world thought of the customs of their ancestors, and yet, she knew that she’d been shaped for this man’s arms since before they were born, mayhaps since the Dawn Age.

They came together swiftly as they always did, skin to skin, her soft silks crushed against his boiled leather atop the royal bed. Dany had memorized each and every inch of Jon many years ago, had loved him a thousand and one times, but she knew she’d never be over the feel of him under her hands and fingertips. She loosed his hair from its leather tie, as he rent her fine, translucent silk in two…

“I wore that for you.” He was more impatient than usual tonight, and the sound of the fabric tearing, along with the feel of his rough hands against her velvet skin, left her dripping wet.

“That’s what comes of trying to make a husband and a king out of a barbaric Northern fool.” 

 _His voice._ Dany knew that it was _Jon_ , not just his accent, but the way that Northern burr would rumble and catch in his throat before rumbling in her ear always sent her teetering near the edge. A few, notable times, it had actually sent her over.

She tried to reach for him, to undress him as he’d done her, but his greedy hands slid down her soft skin as dark smoke-purple eyes, dilated almost black, regarded her nakedness with raw hunger, choosing, _contemplating_ she knew where to touch and taste first. 

“Jon, _love,_ just let me…”

His tongue landed on her sternum, as he cupped both of her breasts, and his mouth trailed both ice and fire to one straining peak.

“I swear to you that I _will_ taste you here again… once you can no longer hide my child.”

She gasped, beyond speech, as he treated the other nipple to the same loving treatment.

“Did you think I did not know, Dany?” he chuckled, tracing the areolas with callused fingers. “There is little and less that you can hide from me.” 

His hands moved down to caress her belly, lovingly. 

“I am not yet showing," she pointed out.

“And yet our babe is right here.” He dipped his curly head down to kiss her navel softly. “You _are_ showing. Never forget that I see the woman, not just the queen. You are both to me, and more… my wife, the mother of my babe, my queen, my _love._ ”

The queen in Dany wanted to ask him what they were going to do about what they’d done, what would happen when (not if) the realm found out, how they would deal with the Great Council, Aegon’s jealousy, and their fractious lords.

But the woman in Dany didn’t give a single care just then. All she could do was hold on for dear life, because she knew where he was going.

And when he got there, Dany’s back arched up from the bed as she cried out. Her husband called his technique “the Lord’s kiss” until she’d reminded him that he was a King. Yet no Khal or King or Ghiscari slaver had ever loved her like this, had ever sipped from her as if she was the finest of rare vintages. No horselord or sellsword or perfumed nobleman had ever rubbed his lips over her sex, run his tongue along her folds, or placed caressing fingers into her sweet chalice. None would hold her down with just the strength of his hands until she came into his mouth, came screaming and shaking as if she were a courtesan of Braavos instead of Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

As soon as she could speak again, she ordered him, “Take off your clothes.”

“You take them off for me,” he replied, the rasp in his deep voice belying his nonchalant tone.

Undressing Jon took some time. It always did. She would never get over how perfect his body was, even with the scars. Or how he would always make love to her with his eyes, caressing her skin with heated glances. Sometimes, he would cover her hands with his. Other times, he would touch her as she touched him, running his fingers over every inch he could reach as she hurriedly moved aside leather and linen, and undid buckles and laces.

The press of his bare skin against hers was both revel and revelation. _This_ was how she’d come to this destiny. _This_ was why he’d come into her life. _This_ was the reason.

_He was the reason._

Once they were both bare, Jon sheathed himself fully without preamble between her thighs, with a deep exhale, gazing at her tenderly for a brief moment before the sheer pleasure at the feel of him inside her took them both under. When they were new, Dany always tried to suppress her gasp at his entrance, would bite her lips to stop from screaming until she learned what her screams did to him.

The most powerful warrior king in the world was in her arms, and she could rip his control to shreds as surely as he did her silk dresses.

“Cry out for me, Dany,” he groaned quietly. 

At the sound of his voice, Dany’s mouth opened into a gasp. Hoarse, almost voiceless…

_“Jon.”_

The look on his face then was one of pure masculine pride as he shifted, lifted her leg, drew back, and buried himself roughly to the hilt.

 

*

 

“Did your little sister make it in?” asked Dany, basking in the afterglow.

“She did,” Jon murmured, lips against her sweaty forehead.

“What did Sansa say?”

“She doesn’t think we have any other choice. We can’t have Edric on our rear flank, Dany… we cannot take the risk. Once Shireen marries Rickon, Storm’s End _must_ go to Arya in Gendry’s name.”

Daenerys sighed, tracing his scars gently, as was her habit.

“I know, my love. I just hate to ask it of her… she hated court, and now we’re asking her to hold courts of her own in a land she’s never seen. All while she’s grieving.”

“She will do it for us.” 

Dany laughed. “She’ll do it for _you,_ Jon. You know that Arya doesn’t care much for me. She never did.”

Jon caught Dany’s eye. “That’s not true.”

“It is true and you know it. Sansa came around first, quite some time ago, just as I predicted she would… this time, husband, you must admit that I was right, and you were not.”

Jon huffed. “My little sister hasn’t been herself since her husband disappeared.”

“No, it’s because Arya loves you. You’re her favorite brother, and she’s suspicious of me. She suspects, but doesn’t _know_ what we are to each other. We should have told her years ago. We should have told all your brothers and sisters… after all, they’re our family, too.” 

Dany sighed.

“We should have never let the Great Council _shame_ us into pretending that we have a political marriage, Jon. I _refuse_ to be ashamed. There’s nothing for us to be ashamed of when we love each other.”

“They mislike our customs. In truth, I am your brother’s son. They fear that our children will grow up and marry each other instead of them, I suppose.” 

“I am _glad_ you’re Rhaegar’s son. You know that.”

“All the same, Dany, it’s just as well that part of me still thinks of myself as Ned Stark’s bastard. And I’ll never see my brothers and sisters as my cousins.”

She nodded. It was a conversation they’d had a thousand times over the years since the Wars. While Daenerys was thrilled that the love of her life had the blood of the dragon, Jon would never think of her as his aunt.

Which was just as well, he thought. While Jon had seen much and more, having died and raised again to tell the tale, he’d never been hit by lightning before. Meeting Daenerys Targaryen for the first time at the onset of Winter? _She_ had been his lightning bolt.

And she was that to him, still. No other woman could compare to her. To think that he was her husband, and she was not only his queen, but his _wife_  was beyond belief at times.

“I want her to like me,” Dany was saying softly. “I will speak with Arya in private...” 

“Perhaps with Sansa,” Jon said quickly.

Dany rolled over so that she was perched atop him.

“Why don’t you want me to be alone with her? Are you saying that your sister would dare threaten her Queen? That she would be Faceless with me?”

“Of course not. It’s just that you’re both more alike than you know. I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

“I don’t want to see _her_ hurt,” insisted Daenerys. “She is my goodsister, you know. I care about her, and I hate that we’re sending her South for the kingdoms’ sake.” Her violet eyes darkened. “I swear to you, husband, if either Aegon or Edric harm one hair on that girl’s head, I _will_ burn them alive.” 

“ _I’ll_ swing the sword myself,” Jon told her. “We can’t always use fire and blood…”

“Well, not everyone is part of our pack,” Dany tossed back. “You’re not the only one who knows your Houses.”

As she moved with intent atop him, he felt himself rising again… whether wolf or dragon, or both, he wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. It never did, whenever he was with her...

Tomorrow, they’d face the world, and everyone in it. During the day, they were the King and Queen, and as such, their actions had consequences.

Just then, they were Jon and Daenerys.

And all that mattered was that they were together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you unfamiliar with Arya of the Thousand Days, here are a few notes:
> 
> \-- The story begins in the first half of 306 AC, which is two and a half years after the Wars are won and Spring has returned.
> 
> \-- Jon and Daenerys were married and crowned King and Queen at the Great Council of 305. Although the Iron Throne has been abolished, the Targaryen Dynasty has been restored. Jon and Dany are co-regents (think Ferdinand and Isabella).
> 
> \-- There is one catch, though. The Great Council was adamant that the Targaryen practice of incest end in this generation. Since Dany did not have a child during the Wars, their heir is currently Prince Aegon, meaning the custom will die and House Targaryen will outmarry each generation.
> 
> \-- Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen is not the same person as Jon Snow. He’s the same character as Young Griff in the ASOIAF novels – I strongly recommend consulting the ASOIAF Wiki if you’re a show-only person.
> 
> \-- While Jon is a Targ and a dragonrider in this universe, his birth name is Jaehaerys Targaryen. He rules as King Jon I, though, as the co-regency united North and South. Besides, he is used to being called Jon. :)
> 
> \-- Viserion is not undead. He’s very much alive, and Jon is his rider.
> 
> \-- Rhaegal’s rider in this fic is Prince Aegon.
> 
> \-- Drogon, of course, is still Dany’s dragon.
> 
> \-- There are several characters alive in the AOTTD-verse who are dead on the show. The most prominent among these are Shireen Baratheon and Rickon Stark. Also alive are Prince Trystane Martell, and several others. Summer and Shaggydog are also still alive.
> 
> \-- In addition, there are several characters who exist in the AOTTD-verse and in ASOIAF who were never even introduced on the show. These include Princess Arianne Martell, Edric Storm Baratheon, Mya Stone Baratheon, and Lord Willas Tyrell.
> 
> \-- Sometime in 304 AC, right after the end of the Wars, Gendry Baratheon went missing along with the men of the Brotherhood without Banners. This is significant for two reasons: 1) he’s married to Arya Stark, and 2) Stannis in this AU named him his heir.
> 
> \-- For all other details, leave a comment, or consult the Appendices of Arya of the Thousand Days (I'll let you know which chapters they're in when I update again).
> 
> * 
> 
> In closing, I want to thank my faithful Jonerys-shipping readers, who have supported Arya of the Thousand Days since the very beginning in May 2015, perhaps simply because I rightly guessed that Jon and Daenerys would likely be the King and Queen in canon. While there are a couple Jonerys scenes in that story, they deserved a fic of their own. Although I'm still Gendrya trash, and that's my OTP of OTPs, I also ship Jonerys like Fedex and can't see either of them with anyone else. And I dearly love being right. :)
> 
> This story's for you, Jon and Dany fans... congrats on our ship coming in!
> 
> Next update: AOTTD 23, then it's back to this one. (Ignore the numbering; this will be a multi-chaptered fic.) I already love re-seeing these events from Jon and Dany's POV, and I'm learning more about this story from writing it from another perspective.
> 
> Until then, you can find me on Tumblr: lizstargaryen's the main blog, while winter-comes-with-fire-and-blood is for all things Jonerys. More soon!


	2. The Small Council

It was Jon’s habit to awaken while the night was still dark and Daenerys was still asleep. After growing up within the walls of Winterfell, then sojourning in the half-empty Castle Black upon the fallen Wall, and the lands beyond it, he was overused to peace and quiet.

Most unfortunately, there was little peace or quiet to be had for a King during daylight hours. Unlike in the blessed North, where the dark of early spring lingered long after all in the castle had awakened, the sun peeked over the Narrow Sea long before breakfast. _Far too late_ , Jon always thought.

More than a thousand souls lived within the Red Keep. The castle of their Targaryen ancestors was built to hold many times that number. But more the man formerly known as Jon Snow would not have. His wife may have been overused to the crunch of people, having lived most of her life in the more populated Eastern continent, but Jon didn’t think he would ever be used to seeing people everywhere he turned.

Thus, it was the King's habit to arise while most of the castle still slept, whilst the air was dark and quiet.

At this hour, a man could think.

The fires in the royal bedchamber on the topmost floor of Maegor's Holdfast burned high and bright still. For that, Jon was glad. Ever since his resurrection years before, he had always felt the cold more, and his love liked it warmer still. Their shared bed was adorned with the thick silk-and-velvet covers that Dany had brought with her from the Free Cities, as well as the wolf pelts he'd brought with him from Winterfell.

She was mostly wrapped in those pelts, and the sight was a more potent lure than any wine or ale he knew. They both slept naked long before they’d met one another, and did so again now that the Long Night was over. Still at times, she would come to their bed in one of the obscene frocks that she’d worn before Westeros. Jon always made short work of those, but it didn’t stop her from teasing him.

The remnants of the silk slip she’d worn for him the night before was still shredded on the rug beside the bed. Made from the pelt of a white lion, the rug was adorned at the edges with golden scales fallen from Viserion. Just beyond it, atop the covers, Dany slumbered on, smooth skin half-wrapped in his wolf pelts, collarbone rosy from his love bites, a _very_ contented smile on her face…

The mother of dragons tamed at last.  _By him._

 _She’s carrying my child._ Jon warmed to that knowledge as he poured water from a pitcher into a washbasin, splashing it on his skin. There was something not only sensual, but _satisfying_ about his woman having something that was his, deep inside her, that she would feed, nurture, and grow over the coming months… a babe that would be both wolf pup and dragon…

_Just as you are._

But Jon didn’t think of himself as a dragon, even now. Never mind that he could feel Ghost’s prickling awareness at the back of his mind, as his direwolf rose from Nymeria’s side in the courtyard to make his silent way to his chambers. Or that at in the forefront of his consciousness, he sensed gentle Viserion lifting its head to the sky in the Dragonpit, leaving Drogon at rest as his dragon walked quietly a small distance away, and began to flap great wings in preparation to return to the Red Keep.

Rinsing his mouth with a bit of water, Jon dipped a linen strip into a power of fine-ground salt with exotic herbs and spices. It was a habit he’d picked up from his wife; she and her people had extraordinarily good teeth and pleasant-smelling breath. Most of the noble and merchant classes in the East polished their teeth meticulously, yet in Westeros, such fripperies were frowned upon by many men. Thinking about what his brother Robb might have said about such a womanly indulgence, he smiled to himself…

“What’s that smile all about?”

He looked up. Daenerys was yawning, but smirking quietly. He was not surprised. Both loved to spy on the other as they did the simplest things.

Both loved to hold the other in their eyes, grateful that their years apart and the dangers they faced had brought them together at last.

He walked slowly to the edge of the bed, washcloth in hand.

“I always smile when I think on the ways you’ve changed me.”

Dany sat up, letting the covers and pelt fall enticingly to her waist. “The one thing I have not changed is that you keep these beastly hours, instead of keeping me warm in my bed.”

“We rise early in the North,” he reminded her, pulling her into his arms, atop his lap. “For winter is coming.”

“Once this latest trouble is over, I swear that I shall keep you abed until noon,” she promised, pressing her face into his neck. “Or better yet, eventide.”

They sat that like that for long, tender moments, listening to each other’s breath, their beating hearts keeping time. Jon’s hand wandered over to Dany’s still-flat middle…

“Not now,” she laughed at his eagerness to feel their child's presence. “In a few moons, though. You will feel his little foot kicking you, his fists flail…”

Her breath caught in her throat, as if the words had been stolen by a memory painful.

Jon knew the memory. She’d shared with him long ago.

He knew what troubled her heart.

“This time won’t be like the last time,” he swore. “I am not _him_ , and your Rhaego is at peace. This child will live. There will be no witch to curse us, nothing to threaten him…”

“Only a civil war.”

“After all we’ve seen, done… been through? A civil war is as nothing.”

Daenerys’ violet eyes gazed up at him with unshed tears. “It’s not nothing, Jon, and you know it.”

“If Aegon has no allies,” he replied, wiping her tears away with a caressing thumb, “he won’t attack. The Stormlands will be lost to him once my little sister takes them…”

“It’s not enough,” she breathed. “I've seen this before. Aegon is touched with our family's curse; he grows mad. We must summon Arianne Martell to court. We must know her intentions. And Jon, about Willas Tyrell… if his wife does not live…”

He shook his head. “No. We cannot ask it of Sansa. You know we can’t.”

She let out a deep breath. “It would keep Willas loyal to us.”

“I am certain that my sister’s innocence was taken from her in the Vale. _Over_ and over again.”

Her eyes closed. “I know. It hurts me to know it. But Sansa has survived and endured. As have I...”

“You have me. You _chose_ me.” Jon’s thumb stroked her petal-soft lips. “An unhappy marriage does not make for an effective alliance, even if it is agreed upon. This time, Sansa must be allowed her choice.”

“And yet, you give Arya no choice but to give up Winterfell.”

“She had a choice. She chose us.” Jon shook his head. “Winterfell will be always be our home, but nothing can ever undo all that has happened since we left as children.”

They kissed sweetly, softly.

“Go, speak with your sister,” ordered Dany as she felt the flame between them ignite anew, “before I keep you here with me and never let you go again.”

He rubbed her face with his, like the wolf that he was.

“We will be back at the forenoon, so the case can be presented at Council.”

Daenerys nodded as he rose slowly. “What are the odds that your half-brother and my nephew will show his face this time?”

Jon shrugged lazily, reaching for his shirt. “He hasn’t shown for nearly a moon. I do not know if he realizes Arya is here. But it does not matter. If he cuts you off again, I _will_ run him through.”

She giggled, but the sound of it was wry.

There was a tapping at the chamber door. Kingsguard Podrick Payne peeked his head in.

“Your Graces, Ghost is…”

“Let him in,” said Jon, greeting his direwolf. Ghost always knew when Jon and Dany were ready to receive others, and their guards would not interrupt them until they saw the white wolf.

Nuzzling Jon in greeting, Ghost brushed past swiftly to go to Dany’s arms. Ever since her first time in Winterfell, Jon's wolf couldn't seem to get enough of his beloved.

“Watch that tongue of yours, boy,” Jon warned Ghost as the direwolf licked every bit of the queen’s skin he could reach, affectionately. "She's  _mine."_

“As much as Drogon loves you?" Dany scoffed, laughing at Ghost's eager mouth. "A dragon is only supposed to have one rider, you know…”

But in the end, Jon took Ghost with him to greet his little sister.

When it came to his Daenerys, Jon didn’t plan to share… even with their pets.

  

* 

 

“Absolutely ridiculous,” was Aegon’s verdict. “When have the Stormlands, the most  _martial_ of our kingdoms, ever been ruled by a mere woman?”

Daenerys’ eyes flitted to her husband as their small council table fell silent.

_It seems that I will have to prevent fratricide today._

_Again._

_What does it say about me that I would dearly love one of my nephews to run the other through?_

_Perhaps it’s because I forget a thousand times each day that my greatest love is my nephew in truth -- and remember, and forget again._

_Aegon is the elder of Jon and me both. But at times like this, he seems but a bothersome, petulant child._

In the seconds that Dany had before Jon reached for his sword, she surveyed the table. Her advisors were the best on the continent, but most of them were young – their King and Queen included. The War of the Usurper, the Wars of the Five Kings, and the War for the Dawn had decimated their parents’ generation, and many of their own. Theirs was a young kingdom this Spring, and both council and court reflected it.

Arya Stark had joined them this morning for the first time in many moons… had it yet been a year? The She-Wolf was guarded always, and Dany watched her as she sized up those seated around the table. And yet, for all her ferocity, Arya possessed an uncommon, wild Northern beauty that drew the eye. It was evident to the queen how she'd captured the heart of the son of Robert Baratheon.

_Much like Jon captured mine._

Each time Daenerys saw her goodsister, she was startled by how much she was growing into her looks. All who remembered Jon’s mother – and these days, there were precious few – said that Arya was her very image, in both look and personality.

Perhaps that was why Dany wished for Arya’s favor. _I would want the Lady Lyanna to approve of me for her son. She might not understand the Valyrian customs, but I know she’d understand how much I love Jon._

_I want Arya to know it, too._

Sansa had warmed to her first, before the Wars were through. In Sansa, Dany found much in common. She, too, was the daughter of a royal House who had long ago learned how to school her beautiful features into a mask. But behind closed doors, sometimes, Sansa would come to sit with Dany, Missandei, and the other ladies of the court. They both loved pretty, feminine things as much as they loved politics.

Sansa had long been her ally. And yet, they weren't particularly close. Dany sensed that Sansa had secrets, too, and hoped that someday, the Fair Lady of the North would come to see her as a sister as well.

_After all, Sansa is a mother, too._

Then there was Tyrion, their erstwhile Hand, the wisest man in the Kingdoms. While he wasn’t perfect, Dany would put the brain, heart, and will of her Hand against any other in the known world. She knew that he was sick with worry over the prospect of civil war, and the fracturing and of their fragile peace.

The Sand Snakes were another matter.

Maester Alleras was in truth a _woman_. This Daenerys knew, and it pleased her greatly _._ Dany herself ruled in her own right, alongside her Jon instead of behind him, and knew better than most how their world saw only the fact that one was born female, not virtue or courage or intellect. It served the Citadel right that they never knew that the one they’d appointed Grandmaester was of the fairer sex. Alleras dressed as a man, but made no other effort to appear other than the sex she was born… men saw what they wanted to see.

Then, too, Alleras preferred the company of women, though maesters were supposed to be celibate. She had no idea who Alleras’ lover was, only that she had one. Dany was silent and sympathetic. For if her Jon had been born a woman, Dany was certain that she would have loved _her_ just as well, too.

Daenerys believed that one should love the person, not their gender… after all, as Viserys always said, that was the way of Old Valyria. Even if other peoples put rules on whom one should love, and the Andals and First Men were peculiarly prudish, the dragonlords of the Freehold had enjoyed lovers of all sexes, only curbing their appetites after the Doom when the Faith of the Seven had preached that the Valyrians' violence as well as their licentiousness had been the cause of their fall.

Nonetheless, just as Valyrians wed brother to sister, there was nothing in Valyrian custom preventing same-sex affairs. She’d had a couple of brief affairs with particularly beautiful handmaidens during her travels, but that was before she’d met Jon… and her White Wolf ruined her for any other man, woman, _or_ creature.

Thus, it was easy for the Queen to keep her Maester’s secrets. Alleras was quite capable. She had Dany's trust.

Then there was Nymeria Sand.

Nymeria had been one of the most useful generals during the siege of King’s Landing. It had been her ingenuity that got Jaime Lannister back into the Red Keep, to end the life of his mad sister before the whole of King’s Landing exploded in wildfire. And then, it had been Nymeria and her sisters who had gotten Brienne of Tarth to stay Ser Jaime’s hand so that he did not follow his sister into the grave…

Ser Jaime, of the House who had destroyed their own.

Still, Daenerys couldn’t read Nymeria. That bothered her. The Sand Snake was the sole Dornish member of the small council, her appointment a sop to Princess Arianne Martell, Wardeness of the South. Although Jon scoffed at the idea of faraway Dorne being a threat to their rule, Dany couldn’t forget the darkly beautiful Princess’ refusal to vote for their reign, or the way she came every day of the Great Council straight from Aegon Targaryen’s bed.

Edric Baratheon was another troublesome member of the Council. Daenerys told Jon often that the boy simply didn’t know his own mind. And a boy Edric was still, although he was older than some of their advisors.

Daenerys knew that Stannis Baratheon’s original plan had been to betroth his daughter Shireen to her first cousin, tying the two branches of the line of the Storm Kings together. But something about Edric Storm clearly troubled Stannis, for his will was unmistakable and the Northerners who attended his deathbed weren’t known for their lies. Neither was his dearest friend Ser Davos Seaworth, who loved Shireen as if she were his own daughter. 

Shireen had no interest in Edric, anyway. That, Dany had seen with her own eyes. Though Rickon was only fourteen, and she would have normally advised that he wait a year or two before he claimed his stone princess (Dany knew all about what it meant to be married too young), strategically, Lady Shireen being unmarried left the Stormlands in question. It was a loose end that needed attending.

Jon and Daenerys couldn’t afford to have the realm immediately to their south, with bays and islands and harbors aplenty, and a strength of forty thousand even now, to fall into their enemy’s hands.

And it was becoming clear that Aegon Targaryen was their enemy.

Looking at Aegon was almost like looking into a mirror. His beauty startled all who beheld him, for to the peoples of Westeros, it was as otherworldly as her own. He towered over his younger half-brother by half a head, though Jon was more thickly muscled, with a warrior’s body. Aegon was more willowy, more in the mold of most Targaryen men.

His purple eyes were much darker than Dany’s, but lighter still than Jon’s. And his skin was neither ivory like hers nor rosy like his, but sun-kissed, almost swarthy, the mark of his mother, the Dornish princess Elia Martell.

_Surely poor Elia deserved a better son than this._

Daenerys knew she’d have trouble with Aegon when upon first meeting, he pulled out the dragonhorn he’d slain the brothers Greyjoy to possess, and bound the first dragon he saw.

 _No true Targaryen – no true_ **Valyrian** _– would need damned magic from Asshai to bind their dragon to him._

_Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor. A dragon is not a slave._

_Yet after that, my Rhaegal was distant to me, and only did Aegon’s bidding._

_I shall never forgive him for that._

“When have the Stormlands, the most  _martial_ of our kingdoms, ever been ruled by a mere woman?”

That _damned_ Aegon.

Daenerys saw both Arya and Nymeria about to protest. She raised a hand to silence them. _I shall put him in his place. I should have done it long ago._

“Aegon…” That was Jon’s growl. _I must speak quickly, lest my King run him through. While I would applaud the sentiment, and reward him properly later, I know him. I don’t want kinslaying on his conscience._

“Husband, ladies,  _I_ will respond to my nephew.”

And she turned to glare at Aegon, who smirked back.

"Your Grace, I do apologize, but..."

His insincerity, as well as his continued disrespect, made her blood boil. _Before Jon tempered my fire, back when I was younger, I would have burned him alive for this insolence. Yet I will bide my time._

 _You will not turn me into your Rhaenyra, Aegon,_  she thought angrily. _I am Queen of these Seven Kingdoms, and you will obey my commands, or suffer the consequences._

“A mere woman," Daenerys said slowly. "Aegon, please explain ‘mere womanhood’ to me, and the other ladies of the Realm seated around this table." 

Aegon looked at Edric, then at her, a slight sneer on his handsome features.

“Women are to be protected from the harsh realities of ruling. And while I realize that the women of this small council are… special cases, as is Your Grace, women are blessed of the Mother to bear a lord’s children, to tend his home, and to bring him comfort. It has been ever thus.”

He’d made a similar argument to the Great Council the year before. It was known, in Westeros as well as Essos, that no woman had ever been head of House Targaryen, or had ever ruled the Seven Kingdoms in her own right. And in the back of her mind, Daenerys  _knew_ that it had only been Jon’s own claim that had validated hers, though she, too, was a Bringer of the Dawn.

Perhaps in Essos and the lands beyond the shadow, women ruled in their own right. Perhaps in the North and Dorne, warriors were content to follow the commands of their ladies.

But from the Neck to the Dornish Mountains, a woman could only be validated by her father and her husband. Unless she was a wealthy highborn women, she had little worth in her own right. Certainly, men would not seek to _follow_ her.

Stopping an 8000-year-old threat hadn’t changed minds as fully as Daenerys had hoped. Jon himself shared those hopes, but then, her husband, lover, and King worshipped and admired her, and would have been content to become her Consort if she hadn’t desired him ruling beside her as her equal. _Together in all things._

It was an ancient grievance of powerful women that Dany now shared. And it was an ancient lesson that she would teach not only her nephew, but all who were learning the Valyrian tongue around the council table.

“I see.” She turned to the rest of the small council. “My lords and ladies, please forgive me, for it will be easiest if I continue speaking to my nephew in Valyrian for a moment."

“Would you like me to speak to him in private?” asked the King, his voice still a growl.

_I do not wish for him to slay his brother. And yet, he is dangerously close._

“That won’t be necessary, Jon. Some of you are actually learning our tongue, including  _you,_  husband. I want witnesses, for I shall make my meaning plain to Prince Aegon.”

Aegon had the good sense to look uncomfortable at last.

“Daenerys, I…”

But she shook her head, and waved a hand at Alleras, who was taking notes.

“Grand Maester, I will continue in High Valyrian. It is far easier for me to speak of my family histories and ancestors in my native language, for that is how my brother taught me the stories. But I want you to inscribe what I say to Prince Aegon into the record in the Common Tongue. Can you do that, or shall I ask Missandei to translate?”

“I am quite capable of it, Your Grace,” she said.

“Thank you,” Dany replied.

Then she looked at Arya. A flicker of recognition was in her goodsister’s gray eyes.

_She’s lived in Essos! I had forgotten. In Braavos, with the Faceless Men, for years. Which means she learned not only Braavosi, but the mangled Valyrian that all speak in Essos from the Narrow Sea to Asshai. It is our lingua franca, as Common is here in Westeros._

Nodding slightly at Arya, she turned to her errant nephew, switching to her mother tongue.

“Ever thus, Aegon? And I suppose that our ancestors who conquered these kingdoms with fire and blood,  _and_ those of the generation of the Dance… they were all men? Shall I speak their names to you, starting with Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys I? Shall I speak of their victories and conquests?”

“That was generations ago, Daenerys,” replied Prince Aegon, drawling his Valyrian words oddly as he always did. Try as she might, Dany couldn't place his accent. “Aegon the Conqueror…”

“…conquered Westeros on dragonback  _with the aid of his two sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys,"_  she returned. _"_ I need not tell you of this, for  _you_ know our histories far better than I do, nephew.”

“Then I need not tell  _you_  that you are the  _first_  Targaryen Queen since the Conquest to rule in her own right,” snapped Aegon impatiently. “Rhaenys Velaryon  _and_ Rhaenyra  _and_ Daena  _and_ many others were passed over by _every single Great Council_  until that  _farce_  last year at Riverrun. Targaryens do  _not_ allow our women to rule over us, and neither did our ancestors in the Freehold. Such is for the uncivilized Rhoynar and First Men,  _not_ the blood of Old Valyria.”

Daenerys couldn’t help it. She inwardly flinched. None noticed it, except Jon. She schooled her features.

_I cannot think of what my ancestors would say about me ruling in my own right instead of being consort to Jon. My father wished for Aegon to rule. My brother wished for Jon to rule. Both would have expected me to be a proper Targaryen wife and consort…_

_Nay. If I look back, I am lost._

Sensing his advantage, Aegon pressed on.

“What do you think your father and grandfather would have said about you ruling in your own right? And if your brother had not perished in the Dothraki Sea…”

 _Viserys._ Daenerys still wasn’t certain _how_ she felt about her brother. He had hit her, fondled her, filled her head with both true histories and grandiose lies. He had loved and hated and _desired_ and _loathed_ her. She had struck him for threatening him, and she had watched the Dothraki strip away what remained of his pride.

She had watched as her first husband had murdered him by crowning him with molten gold.

And yet, he had kept them safe. He had kept them both alive.

_Fire cannot kill a dragon._

_Viserys._

Hearing her brother’s name made Dany snap.

“But Viserys did perish, much to my anguish, nephew! You and Viserys have much in common, except that he cared about me, after a fashion. And how dare you speak of my brother? You turned West instead of East, leaving me to languish in the lands of Old Ghis while you sought our claim on your own behalf. The last Targaryen woman alive, the last woman of Old Valyria, with no family and no House, and I had no idea of your existence until word of your landing reached me in Vaes Dothrak!”

She took a deep breath. She was becoming upset, and she could tell that Jon was growing more and more concerned. In a quieter tone, she said…

“Aegon, as long as I remain Queen of Westeros and head of House Targaryen, you shall never again speak of the Princess, or any other lady, as a  _mere_ woman. Your words are why you have not tempted her away from the memory of her husband.”

The corner of Aegon’s lip flared. Daenerys remembered what Jon had said. _That damned Aegon_ _thirsts for my sister as much as my father desired my mother. Yet Arya is not my mother. This time, the she-wolf prefers the stag._

And she recalled her own reply. _Yes, and I’m afraid that the realm will once again bleed as the dragon and stag fight for their prize._

“So you  _do_ admit that the Baratheon bastard is dead.”

“I said nothing of the sort.” Daenerys’ eyes narrowed. “Your continued disrespect is noted, Aegon. The sole reason that I do not allow my husband the King to run you through is because of the love that I bear for your father, the brother I never knew.”

Aegon’s eyes locked with Jon’s. There was little love lost between the two men. It was as if they were Daeron the Good and Daemon Blackfyre, reborn.

Only this time, both had dragons. And so did she.

_We cannot have another Dance. Not this soon after Winter. We’ll sack the Kingdoms if we do. There will be nothing left._

“Your  _husband_ the King was Rhaegar’s son, too!” Aegon said testily. “His younger  _bastard_ son _…”_

“Yet the Great Council awarded Jon the kingship, and my hand in marriage… not you. You are our heir, Aegon, and our  _family_. Instead of antagonizing the Starks, you ought to spend your time  _finding a queen_ and  _giving our family heirs and a future._ The wolves are bound to us now…  _”_

“I would bind the wolves to House Targaryen for all time, aunt. I would bind them, with fire and blood, with my seed and the children of our combined houses… if only  _she_ would bend the knee.”

All looked at the way that Aegon looked at Arya, then. It was a gaze of both lust and possession, one of demanded submission and power.

For all her ferocity, the wolf-maid flinched.

No one had ever seen Arya Stark flinch. Not even White Walkers nor the army of the dead nor the loss of her husband had done it.

Yet Aegon Targaryen had.

This would _not_ do.

“Bend the knee?" Dany scoffed. "Lady Arya's brother is your King. Unless you mean for the benefit of your cock, in which case, nephew, I’d advise you to take care. Wolves  _bite.”_

Aegon reddened, while the rest of the table tittered.

The look of fear left Arya’s eyes as her small mouth curved into a bold smirk.

It was only then that Jon’s eyes left his little sister… and turned back to his wife in gratitude.

 _It is as nothing,_ Dany thought. _You are my love. She is our family._

_And Aegon is the enemy of us all._

Daenerys looked away from her nephew to acknowledge the rest of the table in the Common Tongue.

“My nephew’s concerns are satisfied, Lord Tyrion. So the petition we must consider today is that of Arya Baratheon’s claim to the Storm Lands.” She turned to Sansa. “Lady Sansa, what were the provisions of the Great Council of 305 for the Stormlands?”

“As the Great Council was primarily called to settle the matter of the Crown, the Stormlands were left in the hands of Lady Shireen Baratheon. The King and Queen have sole discretion to award lordships, for all lands are theirs…”

“Your Graces, may I speak?”

 _No, you may not,_ Daenerys thought testily. _How dare you interrupt my Mistress of Laws?_

But Jon nodded, apparently feeling magnanimous. (Aegon’s continued sulking perhaps had something to do with that.)

“Of course, Lord Edric.”

“Your Graces, my lords and my ladies, the only reason why I have not spoken before now is because I remained south of the Neck during the Wars, with the understanding that the childhood agreement for me to marry my cousin, Lady Shireen, was still in effect.”

 _You know better, Edric,_ thought Daenerys. _You seek to challenge your half-brother’s claim._

_Your words make me wonder if Gendry Baratheon truly did disappear._

The pompous lad continued.

“As a son of Robert Baratheon, I chose to forfeit my claim to the throne, and made the choice to absent myself from the Great Council's proceedings. Imagine my dismay when I learned  _after_ the Council ended that my uncle's will betrothed my sweet lady cousin to a  _Stark,_ one barely old enough to be knighted, who spent the entirety of the War on  _Skagos,_ a remote island only noted for its cannibals…”

“Oh, I hear there are unicorns there, too,” said Lord Tyrion. "And grumkins. And snarks."

 _May the Seven bless you, dear Tyrion,_ thought Dany. _For I know you tire of this nonsense and barely veiled treason as much as we._

Edric glared at Tyrion before continuing.

“My King, I cannot impugn your Great Houses, or speak to my uncle Stannis' last days. But while I can appreciate everything that my half-brother Gendry did for the realm during the Wars, the fact remains that he was baseborn.  _I_  was not _._ I have spent most of my life in the Stormlands.  _He_ had not. What's more, my maternal kin of House Florent give me ties to the Reach, ensuring peace at the Stormlands' western borders. I have been most loyal to the crown, and I have supported your rule in all things…”

“Not if you do not support our decisions,” said the King firmly. “As the Mistress of Laws has informed you, all lands belong to the Crown to grant as we please.”

Edric sputtered with anger, looking to Aegon. Her nephew’s eyes were as a basilisk’s but he said nothing in his friend’s defense. _Craven,_ thought Dany.

Thus Edric had to defend himself.

“It is not  _fair_ , Your Grace. Lady Arya is your  _sister!"_

 _Instinctively,_ Daenerys touched Jon’s burnt hand before he could react. _His wolfsblood is up. Long has it been since he shed blood, and the news of our child has him on edge._

Her thumb stroked his palm _. Dear husband, let me play the game of thrones to keep ours. Perhaps my words, and those of our Hands, can delay this Dance for a time._

“Lord Edric,” said Dany, “do you  _dare_ accuse your King and Queen of playing favorites?”

Unlike Aegon, Edric quailed under the steady gaze of the King and Queen.

“I would not be so presumptuous, Your Grace.”

“The King has just informed his sister this morning that in order for us to consider her claim at Court, she must consider taking a husband. All in the kingdoms know that she does not wish to marry.”

Edric turned to stare at Arya as if she were a dish on a platter, and he was starving.

“I-I didn't know, Your Grace. But she was married to my half-brother. I am of the Seven. I cannot…”

“Well, it seems to me that you are indeed being presumptuous, for neither the King nor I have said that  _you_ will be the lord so favored with Lady Arya’s hand.”

“Your Grace, please forgive me, I simply just…”

Daenerys turned back to Jon, letting his hand go.

“I tire of this conversation, husband. Please inform the council of our plans for your sisters.”

Only Dany caught the twinkle in Jon’s eyes, for his features remained stern.

“Tonight, there will be a great feast celebrating Lady Arya’s return to court. We have called all the suitable lords of the realm to dine with us in the Red Keep, those from the Great Houses of Westeros, and those from other notable houses.

“The guests of honor will be my sisters Arya and Sansa, the Winter Princesses. Let it not be said that your King is Baelor the Blessed come again, locking his sisters away in the Maidenvault… that he refuses his lords the beauties of Winterfell. My sisters and the other ladies at court will feast and dance, and consider all unwed men suitable to their station.

“However, there is but one provision. My sisters  _must_ agree to the match. The Lady Sansa has been married twice, once against  _both_  of their wills to Lord Tyrion Lannister, the second time to the late Lord Harrold Hardyng of the Vale. The Lady Arya has been also married twice, once by proxy to the late traitor Ramsay of the House Bolton, and the second to Lord Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End according to the will of Stannis Baratheon, presumed lost at sea. Before their marriages, both sisters were  _betrothed,_ the Lady Sansa to the traitor Joffrey of House Lannister, and Lady Arya to Elmar of the treacherous House Frey.

“It has been acknowledged by the Great Council and the Crown that my sisters were invaluable to the war efforts, Lady Sansa in the Vale and King’s Landing, and Lady Arya in Essos and the far North. They have served on our small council ably, and have brought much wisdom and wit to this table. They have done this without complaint,  _and_  they have suffered the gossip of the realm because I did not use them as my pawns the moment I was crowned King.

“In the name of my lady mother, Lyanna of the House Stark, no lord in the Seven Kingdoms, or across the Narrow Sea, and no  _prince,”_ his eyes cut to his half-brother Aegon, “will  _force_ me to betroth my sisters against their will. They are strong, they are capable, and they have the blood of the First Men in their veins. Lady Lyanna Mormont, named for my mother, rules Bear Island in her own right. Lady Alys does the same for House Karstark. It has been ever thus in the North, because winter is coming.

“I do not dictate what my lords do within their Houses. But as for me and  _my_ House, my brothers and I are agreed. No woman of House Stark will  _ever_ again be subjected to what my mother faced when she was just a young girl. When our grandfather refused to give her a choice, she took it… and the kingdoms were soaked in blood. Lyanna, like my sisters, was a She-Wolf of Winterfell, and we do not  _cage_ our wolves. They  _cannot_  be caged.

"So this nightfall, Lady Sansa and Lady Arya will consider the lords of the realm, and decide if any are matches for the blood of the Kings of Winter. They will share their choices to me, and in turn,  _I_ will approach the man in question, to test him and see whether he is worthy or not.

“After that, the Queen and I will decide on the matter of the Stormlands… Storm’s End is in the care of the Lord Davos Seaworth, a most capable castellan, former Hand of the late Stannis Baratheon, and lord guardian to the Lady Shireen Baratheon. The matter will hold until then…”

“Your Grace,” interrupted Edric, “I only implore you to… you have failed to consider…”

The little Queen saw red. _How dare he?_

“If we wanted your thoughts, Lord Edric, we would inquire,” Daenerys told him. “Do not  _ever_  interrupt my husband, your  _King_ again. As long as you live.”

Jon turned to his wife.

“Didn’t we grant Lord Edric the isle of Driftmark?” he asked calmly, as if Edric had not spoken.

“We did indeed, my King. It was one of the first bequests we granted after being crowned.” Dany’s eyes cut back to Edric. “Even the greatest rulers do err from time to time.”

“What the King and Queen give, the King and Queen can also take away,” advised Tyrion with a slight chuckle.

“Indeed, Lord Hand,” said Jon dryly. “The seat of the ancient Valyrian House Velaryon. Something that the Lord of Driftmark might consider, lest the Crown take it as a slight to House Targaryen, my Lord Master of  _Ships_.”

“Driftmark was good enough for the great Sea Snake, and half our ancestors are from House Velaryon, including the mother of Aegon the Conqueror,” added Daenerys. “My husband is quite forgiving of your insolence, Lord Edric. I am not. Hold your tongue if you would like to keep it.”

When the silence stretched for more than a moment, Tyrion said:

“I believe that concludes this morning's business, Your Graces.”

There was a pause. Daenerys usually dismissed everyone. She was overused to doing so. But Aegon and Edric had come to the small council to demand what was theirs, and to _attack_ what was _hers._

Instead of her usual command, her gaze softened as she looked up at Jon with a wife’s loving eyes.

_From now on, until this trouble has passed, the small council will defer to their King._

“Thank you," said Jon, catching on. "We shall see you at Court after the midday meal, then tonight, we feast.”

Jon rose first, with Dany’s hand in his, helping her to rise as well. The rest of the table followed suit, not daring to remain seated.

Normally, they did not touch in the presence of others beyond their inner circle. They had sworn a vow in front of the whole of Westeros, before the Great Council… they had not _said_ it, but they had _signed_ it after the new High Septon read it aloud for all the lords and ladies of Westeros to hear.

_Ours will be the last Targaryen marriage in the custom of the dragonlords. We acknowledge that the Valyrian custom of incest is a grievous sin in the eyes of the Seven. We acknowledge that the debauched practices of our ancestors were incompatible with the duty of the twin pillars of the Crown and the Faith, of which we are the heads._

_Our marriage will produce no issue, and will primarily serve to knit the offended North back to the whole of Westeros. Our union will be one of allegiance and amity, not forbidden lusts and perverse passions._

_Our marriage will be an example to the continent and the world. As Bringers of the Dawn, our reign will continue to bring light to Westeros, not revert to the darkness of the lost Freehold of our ancestors, doomed forever…_

For the first time at the conclusion of a small council meeting, Jon pulled Daenerys’ arm into his.

And they quit the room together, setting the assembly abuzz.

 

*

 

Daenerys’ vast chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast were much too far away from the small council chamber beyond the Throne Room. So were his, the chambers of the King.

They were due for the midday meal in less than an hour, and court after that.

All the same, Jon could not _think_ or _function_ until he buried himself inside his wife. If he did not have her just then, he feared his heart would cease beating.

Again.

Thus, the lovers made their way to the Maidenvault, built for Baelor’s sisters so that the blessed could avoid the very temptation Jon and Daenerys were rushing toward with beating hearts and stuttering breaths. Swiftly, they made their way to the ancient structure tucked behind the royal Sept, only steps away from the Great Hall and the Throne Room.

Many and more had been their trysts here. There were no permanent residents of the Maidenvault, yet it was richly appointed and ever ready for distinguished guests. The few elderly servants who tended it carefully always made themselves scarce when the King and Queen approached, followed by Ghost, as well as the Kingsguard who would wait outside under the pretense that the monarchs were conversing with each other.

And so they were.

Most of the time, Jon and Dany made it into one of the bedrooms. They’d been told by Tyrion when they came to the castle that this particular one had once belonged to Elaena Targaryen; they didn’t care. They liked it because it was surrounded on three sides with stained glasses that spilled all the colors of the rainbow on their intertwined bare limbs when the sunlight was just right. There was a magical quality to their lovemaking at those times...

This was not one of those times. 

Just beyond the entrance hall of the Maidenvault was a sumptuous room that doubled as hall and dining chamber. Wordlessly, Dany climbed atop it, sitting on its very edge, hiking up the black-and-red velvet skirts of her elaborate dress.

All the better for Jon to slide her smallclothes down her shapely legs, and press the dampened cloth to his handsome face, taking in the scent.

She was _so_ wet for him.

Meanwhile, her small hands were busily unhooking and unlacing his breeches, quite practiced now at doing so. Without preamble, she licked her other hand, then palmed his cock, first gentle, then more insistent.

His mouth fell upon hers with intent to devour. Tasting, savoring, celebrating as their tongues danced together, then teeth falling back to nibble and tease. His hands opened the wrapped closure of her bodice, palming her breasts through her translucent chemise.

She pulled herself forward to grind her wet sex against his cock, intentionally sliding her folds up and down his length in blatant invitation, signaling what she truly wanted from him. His mouth dipped down to trail against her chest, to lick her much as his wolf had only a few short hours before…

Her hands went to grip his soft, exquisite curls, pulling him up to look at her, to look into her eyes...

 _Don’t you dare. Not yet._

He knew that she was right. One taste of Daenerys' sweetness, and they would spend the rest of the day entwined in the Maidenvault, midday meal, Court, and feasting be damned. If he didn’t take her _now,_ she knew she would melt on that table.

And so he did, rocking into her smoothly with one great thrust that stole the breath from her lungs… then taking her in shallow, unhurried motions, teasing the dragon within. He knew how much she loved it when he took his time like this, her violet irises locked upon his deep smoke-purple ones, showing her without words everything he meant to her. And yet she also loved it when he fucked her hard enough that walking was a challenge the next day, and riding was out of the question.

This afternoon, he wished to do both...

But with all their duties, there was never enough time.

Greedily, Dany opened his vest and pulled up his shirt, frantic in her need as he drew out his strokes.

 _If this be sin,_ Jon thought for the thousandth time, perhaps more than that,  _let me take it up with the gods after my final death._

_I need this woman more than the air I breathe._

His hands fell from her breasts to cradle her womb as he thrust, caressing both her and the child of his she carried.

_My Dany. My sweet wife._

_My Queen._

It didn’t take long. Soon, he felt her flutter all around him, sweetly undulating walls making his cock explode as her hands twisted in his hair, and he closed her mouth on his. Breaking the kiss to gasp in a lungful of air, he collapsed into her arms as they both shuddered with the aftershocks of their shared climax, her cunt milking the final drops of his seed.

Neither moved. It would have been impossible to do so.

Until then, just outside, they heard the screech of a dragon… Rhaegal, carrying Aegon off, bound against his free will.

Jon frowned.  _Could Aegon have been spying?_

_Did he suspect what he and Daenerys were to each other in truth?_

Vulnerable in his arms, Dany’s lip quivered.

And although she was sated and content, the tears fell from her eyes.

Jon’s frown turned to a murderous glare out the stained glass window.

“I'll kill him.”

“You will not.” She squeezed him, for he had yet to fully soften and withdraw. (If Dany had her way, and if he had his, they would forget the Seven Kingdoms, and stay like that forever.) “We will see this through, though his many insults toward you make me long to end his life.”

“I care not for his insults to me. I care about how he lusts after my little sister... and how much he hurts you… who wanted to be his _family…_ every time.”

Her fingers twined in his curls, lovingly. Had anyone else ever touched his hair so? Perhaps the wet nurse, long ago… Ygritte during her tenderest moments… his little sister Arya, always.

And yet, none other had ever held him close inside like this as she did so, held him body and soul. Held his heart in her hands, cradled it, loving him this softly.

This exquisitely.

Daenerys Targaryen was the most beautiful woman in the world. She could have had anyone as her lover.

But she was in love with him, Jon Snow. And only him.

"I don't want to see you hurt," he said again.

“The hurt is not much when I have you to soothe it away," she whispered.

He kissed her then, kissed her soft and slow, kissed her long and hard, growing erect within her so that he could love her again. Using his body, willing it to tell her what he couldn’t find the sentences to say. Unlike his father, he was no poet, and he had no songs to sing.

Loving Daenerys was the only true song that Jon would ever sing, ever know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the enthusiastic response! Hope to update this one again soon, after I post AOTTD 24.
> 
> I'm estimating that this fic will be about 12 chapters. (The next chapter will pick things up at the start of AOTTD 4.) Right now, the Jonerys story is pretty parallel to Arya's, but once she leaves King's Landing for Storm's End, there will be a number of divergences. I think that the surprise for crossover readers will be what the King and Queen knew, and when.
> 
> Finally, here is a link to the Maidenvault hall and dining room where Jon and Dany made love at the end of the chapter: http://img-fotki.yandex.ru/get/6410/137106206.14a/0_93bc3_7fc5a21d_orig.jpg - since their chambers and those of their family are in Maegor's Holdfast, and there aren't any other guests, I figured they could use their own private love-nest when climbing all those stairs to their chambers proves to be... inconvenient.


End file.
